.
. . But he need never lack friends, for it lies in his own control how soon he
shall make good a loss. Just as Phidias, if he lose a statue, can straightway
carve another, even so our master in the art of making friendships can fill the
place of a friend he has lost.
If
you ask how one can make oneself a friend quickly, I will tell you, provided we
are agreed that I may pay my debt at once and square the account, so far as
this letter is concerned. Hecato says: "I can show you a potion, compounded
without drugs, herbs, or any witch's incantation: 'If you would be loved, love.'"
Now
there is great pleasure, not only in maintaining old and established
friendships, but also in beginning and acquiring new ones. There is the same
difference between winning a new friend and having already won him, as there is
between the farmer who sows and the farmer who reaps.
The
philosopher Attalus used to say: “It is more pleasant to make than to keep
a friend, as it is more pleasant to the artist to paint than to have finished
painting.”
When
one is busy and absorbed in one's work, the very absorption affords great
delight; but when one has withdrawn one's hand from the completed masterpiece,
the pleasure is not so keen. Henceforth it is the fruits of his art that he
enjoys; it was the art itself that he enjoyed while he was painting. In
the case of our children, their young manhood yields the more abundant fruits,
but their infancy was sweeter. . . .
—Seneca
the Younger, Moral Letters to Lucilius 9,
tr Gummere
We are
perhaps tempted to think of ‘having’ friends like having a well-stocked pantry
of goods available for our use and convenience. I have noted for many years how
the Christmas tradition of sending and receiving as many cards as possible can
too easily fall into this trap. Seneca rather explains that the joy of
friendship is less in the possession, and more in the formation itself.
We will
most certainly lose people we care for in our lives, sometimes through mere
circumstance, and sometimes through our own sins. Such a loss can be a great
burden, and should not be dismissed lightly. If, however, we once again turn
our thinking from what is done to us to what we do, friendship can be seen in a
different light. For the self-sufficient man the value of his life is not just
in what he receives, but in what he gives, and with Hecato, we can understand
that friendship is perfected by our own willingness to love.
Do I
wish to be loved? Of course, and what better way to inspire love from another
than by giving it first? But whether or not I am loved is hardly the point,
because that is not within my power. Whether I offer love is most certainly
within my power. Many times in life the greatest joy is not in beholding the finished
product, but in the making.
Only a
very few of my close family and loved ones have been long-term friends, and the
support that has often given me is immeasurable. But I will still bemoan the
loss of other friends, and the only remedy for that sadness is to make certain
of one thing, and of one thing only: Did I give with all of myself for
another, and if I did not, what can I do to make it right, asking for nothing
further in return?
In my
later years I have made it a point to seek out new friends, not for the purpose
of adding them to my list, but simply in order to learn to better practice
kindness, respect, and trust. I try not to worry if they will stay or go, but I
do concern myself with whether I have acted in a way that is in turn worthy of kindness,
respect, and trust. The pain of loss is not tempered by rejection or
resentment, but by continuing to act as a true friend would, regardless of the
conditions.
Written 1/2005
Image: Johann Heinrich Lips (1758-1817), An Allegory of Friendship
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